Traditional Catholic and Flannery O’ Connor wannabe. I hike and collect knives and buy books I’ll never read. Then I ramble on paper, and call it a manuscript.
Traditional Catholic and Flannery O’ Connor wannabe. I hike and collect knives and buy books I’ll never read. Then I ramble on paper, and call it a manuscript.
. _”The prettiest girl that I ever did see,_
_Lived down in the Georgia pines—_
_And the only girl that I ever_
_Did love,_
_I knew she’d never be mine.” _
These words he sang as he walked._ _Over broken boughs and rotting logs, he trudged through fern and grass, lugging backpack; tramping over copse and coppice as the leaves crashed beneath his boots. The sun...
. The sun had barely rose when the cafe was hustling and bustling in its’ usual way. A line was forming out the door, as girls with tied hair and aprons ran to brew and dress enough coffee for an army. Damien sat in the corner, at a dark booth with leather seats. He leaned on the pinewood siding, his head resting below a clock that was permanently fixed on eleven-thirty-two. Sipping his black...
. “Never trust a survivor ‘til ye know what they did to survive.” She had said. That was a true word. He had not realized how true it was when she said it, but in retrospect he knew it to be true.
A vague but vivid memory flashed through his mind. He sat rocking back and forth in the swing on his porch, with a heart that was beating quicker and quicker by the minute. He held his steami...
. She was built like an ox and she had piercing amber eyes that shone like gold. Link was looking up at her from the floor of the grassy meadow and he was wondering how it was possible for a woman to be so tall. She was looking down at him while the sun was beating on her dark face and she thought him awful small. It was her first time leaving Gerudo town and she had never seen a Hylian befor...
. Bonnie’s new pair of black heels were clicking down the sidewalk, stomping over the red, uniform bricks that were slowly turning gray and crooked as she walked. Old, steel train tracks were nestled like veins into the gray, cracking bricks of the riverwalk. Bonnie noticed as she came closer to the historic part of Savannah—Old Riverwalk—the ancient buildings with their thin windows, rusting...
Anne’s room was spacious with jade green walls and gray vinyl wood floors. She had one frame with encased arrowheads, but otherwise her walls were barren. The ceiling was slant and there were two windows with beige curtains. The trim on the windows and on the door was old, scuffed, and beaten. Half of it was stained a dark brown and the other half was an Americana brown. Anne had left a crowbar, a...
One eve’ning silent as the sea,
My father sang the song
Of Hiawatha,
To the swelling rhythm
of the Gryllidae;
At a point— I do declare—
So fleeting as the Gryllidae;
When all was quiet
In the poor man’s way;
Then I played on mossy
Sodden logs;
Garb in faded carrhartt;
thin and boney
As the leafless birch;
So I ran shoeless and singing;
Shouting in the graces of the sun
The song of Hiawatha...
And where do I go,
So lowly and soft,
To cabins abroad,
Where history fell;
And how will I know,
That you have not gone,
When you are not here,
To cradle my thoughts?
By moonshiners’ still,
And hollers n’ broke,
The willows shall weep,
For my gone, done love
When he cannot go,
to the long left road;
Where lingered there, I,
‘Til present drove ‘way....
It was strange. The words came to me as clearly as if my father said them; and I could hear not only his voice, but also the swelling of the crickets, and the shifting of leaves. It was a bright day. The mountain laurel was in bloom, and its’ sweet smell permeated the air. The birds sang at our old, sodden, dilapidated house in the mountains, where my father sang as well; on that lovely day.
And t...